


things we'll do but won't say

by returnsandreturns



Category: New Girl
Genre: Anal Sex, Break Up, Cuddling & Snuggling, Friends to Lovers, Multi, Oral Sex, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 16:21:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5463146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/returnsandreturns/pseuds/returnsandreturns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cece gets married, even after the pranks, even after the <i>badger</i> and Nick and Jess and all of their issues plummeting from the ceiling. She laughs it off and she gets married.</p>
            </blockquote>





	things we'll do but won't say

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kyra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kyra/gifts).



> HI, HAPPIEST YULETIDE, THIS IS PORNOGRAPHY.

Cece gets married, even after the pranks, even after the _badger_ and Nick and Jess and all of their issues plummeting from the ceiling. She laughs it off and she gets married.

Schmidt walks out before they kiss, and Elizabeth follows him. Nick watches them go from his new position as part of the wedding party, sitting to the side with Jess, who probably will never love him. He’s turning over that thought in his head until he notices that the wedding’s over and Jess is still sitting there, pretending to look happy.

They decide to call it off, to call _them_ off—or Nick decides to, because he feels like he has to get out on top of it, like it won’t hurt as much if it’s his idea—right before Schmidt wanders back in.

“Uhm,” he says, looking pale. “Elizabeth just—Elizabeth just broke up with me.”

Jess glances at Nick with wide eyes before she’s standing up and wrapping Schmidt in a hug. She was furious at him like ten minutes ago and now she’s calling him a cab and walking with him arm in arm out to the parking lot.

Nick’s amazed by her. He’d like to tell her that sometime, even if they’re not in love.

Once they get home, Schmidt doesn’t come out of his room for two days. He spent the evening after the wedding doing push-ups in his room for whatever reason Schmidt does push-ups other than fitness, therapeutic push-ups, maybe—Nick was pretty sure that Schmidt was doing them while he was still wearing his suit, which is terrifying, because Schmidt has more emotions about wrinkling suits than Nick has about anything in the entire world.

“I think this is his super villain origin story,” Jess says, seriously, eyes wide as she stares in the direction of the _noises_ that Schmidt’s making, way too audible through the walls. She turns to stare at Nick with the same eyes and he stares back.

“He’ll get over it,” he says. Jess frowns at him.

“He’s going to blow up a national landmark,” she reiterates. “He’s going to _kill Batman_.”

“I think he’s going to use this to kickstart his career in politics,” Winston says. “Many a successful political bid has been started out of heartbreak and spite.”

“Is that true?” Nick asks.

“Probably,” Winston says, shrugging.

*

The next two days, he’s silent and won’t come out for anything, not even to go to work, and nobody knows what to do. Schmidt doesn’t _do_ things like this. When he gets sad, he mostly just gets more neurotic. Cleans a lot, works out too much, yells at his dry cleaner. His opinions on kale and Nick’s refusal to eat it— _because why pay so much for a rich man’s lettuce, Schmidt, it’s crazy, I won’t support it_ —get scarily more aggressive. And if he gets mopey or binge eats, on the rare occasion, he does it where they can see and hear him.

Nick’s not the most observant person, yeah, but if he knows anybody, it’s Schmidt.

It’s possible that this whole situation is really, really serious.

“He’s still in there?” Jess asks, bounding out of her room on the morning of the third day. She’s wearing pajama pants with tiny elephants on them and a tank top that Nick can’t look directly at because it’s a little low, stretched out because she wears it so much, and he’s supposed to not be thinking about Jess’ tank tops and what’s underneath them anymore.

“‘s far as I know,” Nick says, around a mouthful of cereal.

She shuffles over to drop down next to him on the couch, stealing his coffee, like that’s a thing that they do.

“There’s a whole pot over there,” he says, sighing.

“Are you going to talk to him?” Jess asks, ignoring him, fingers wrapped around the mug.

“Me?” Nick asks, frowning.

“Yes, you,” she says. “You’re his best friend. You’re _bros_.”

“Yeah, but you’re here,” he replies, gesturing vaguely at her. “You’re better at that kind of thing, with your feelings and your. . . whole self. You know, like how you smell like sugar cookies and your hair is. . .all soft.”

Jess presses the mug to his chest until Nick takes it from her hand, their fingers touching briefly before she pulls away, getting to her feet.

“Be a person, Miller,” she says, voice going a little weird. She leaves before he can say anything, bare feet padding softly on the floor as she goes back to her room and shuts the door behind her. Nick stares at it for awhile, willing his heart to stop doing whatever the hell it’s doing, somewhere in the vicinity of his throat.

The thing is that he _is_ a person. Nick’s definitely a person. He’s just not a very _good_ one.

*

Schmidt’s door is locked, and he doesn’t answer when Nick knocks and keeps knocking and then starts to knock out the beat to “La Bamba,” kind of flawlessly, if he’s being honest.

He says, “I’ll start singing, Schmidt, don’t think I won’t,” which is what finally gets Schmidt to open the door. He’s wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt from college that completely envelops him. Hair curled up all around his head. Nick’s heart is still doing something inconvenient that he can’t swallow down, and he doesn’t know for sure, but he thinks it might have something to do with how _small_ Schmidt looks.

“That’s the worst karaoke song,” Schmidt says, softly, voice hoarse from disuse. “Why do you always choose it, you don’t even know Spanish.”

“I know all kinds of Spanish,” Nick says. “Hola, mi llamo Nick. Donde esta la bibliotecha?”

“Like you’ve ever seen the inside of a library,” Schmidt murmurs.

“Oh, is that what that means?” Nick asks. “Anyway, welcome back to the world, buddy. I made coffee.”

“I don’t want any of your cowboy coffee,” Schmidt says, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“How about a quality Nick Miller omelet?” Nick offers. “Jess taught me what egg whites are. I don’t understand them, they taste like yoga mats and making an effort, but I can do it anyway.”

“I appreciate your broadened culinary horizons, but I’m fine,” Schmidt replies, backing away a little bit like he’s going to shut the door again. Nick steps forward, putting a hand on the frame.

“What about salad? Weird fancy salad? Jess has been making those salads, in the jars,” Nick says. “From the Pinterest.”

“The Pinterest,” Schmidt repeats, faintly, then: “Stop plying me with food, Nick. I’m _fine_.”

But his voice kind of breaks on the _fine_ and he makes a face, a scrunched up face for just a second before he pulls himself back together.

“Oh my god,” Nick says, because this is happening.

He hugs Schmidt because what else is there even to do. There’s a lot to be said, he thinks, for firm handshakes and brief, earnest pats on the back, but he’s never seen Schmidt like this before. It’s too much. He has to hug him or maybe their world will implode.

He still thinks about abandoning the task to Jess, right at the beginning of the hug, because she really is better at this. She knows how to comfort people, how to smile and touch and be sweet in a way that Nick can only kind of imitate—she knows how to fill in all the little dumb broken parts, but right now it’s just them and Schmidt’s face pressed into his neck and Nick’s fingers sprawled over his back.

And it’s fine, this is a thing that they can do. Schmidt makes a soft noise, and Nick can feel his eyelashes on his skin, and it’s _fine_.

“I’m sorry, man,” Nick says, for lack of anything better to say.

Schmidt shifts in his arms, hesitant for a moment before he hugs back, suddenly, clinging a little bit. He smells kind of rough, like two days in bed, but Nick gets that. He’s been there, with Caroline and also just his entire life up to and including this point. He runs a hand over Schmidt’s spine, ignores the grease in his hair to carefully rub his other hand over it, smoothing it down in the back.

They stay like that for awhile, but then there’s the sound of a door opening behind them. Nick pulls away from him, looking up.

Jess smiles at them, hesitantly.

“Hey, long time no see, Schmidt,” she says.

“Jessica,” Schmidt says, nodding with a lot of dignity at her as she walks into the kitchen for more coffee.

“Why don’t you go take a shower, man,” Nick says, shoving him gently in the direction of the bathroom.

“Don’t insult me, Nick, I know exactly how long you’ve gone without showering,” Schmidt says, but he’s smiling, just a little. He says, for Jess’ benefit: “There were tally marks involved. It was a matter of public record.”

“It was for the sake of science,” Nick says, laughing, and Schmidt shakes his head as he heads towards the bathroom. Jess smiles at Nick over the brim of her mug, the one with the crazy looking owl on it, and he asks, “What?”

“Good job,” she says.

“It was just a hug,” he says, making a face at her. “People hug all the time.”

Jess just keeps smiling, which makes Nick feel a very familiar mix of angry and pleased that he associates specifically with Jessica Day and probably always will. Like frustrated happiness.

*

Nick didn’t actually magically cure Schmidt’s heartbreak with the force of his friendship or anything, even though he kind of thought he _might_ have—which would mean this really is Jess’ world and they’re all just living in it. Schmidt showers and shaves and goes to work the next morning, but he’s still _weird_.

It’s just that it’s being squirrely and not talking weird instead of the usual _Nicholas, have you seen my calf-skin driving gloves_ weird.

“I know I’m about to sound like the black friend in a bad romantic comedy,” Winston says, over breakfast one morning, raising his eyebrows, “but I think we need to get Schmidt laid.”

“I think getting laid is exactly what got Schmidt here,” Jess says. “Maybe we need to get him a hobby. Like recreational polo. He looks like he’d play polo.”

“He _does_ look like he would play polo,” Nick says, wrinkling his nose.

“Schmidt has definitely played polo,” Winston says, nodding agreeably. “I’m just saying, he got to this point because he had sex with emotions tied to it. What I’m talking about here is some good old-fashioned one night stands.”

“Hmm,” Jess says, speculatively, “Just some dirty, feelings-free boning with random strangers?”

“Exactly,” Winston says, smiling.

“Sexual healing,” she says, steepling her fingers, “if you will.”

“I just might.”

“. . .what is happening here?” Nick asks, frowning and gesturing between them.

“The magic,” Winston says, getting to his feet. He leans over and pats Nick’s head, and Nick recoils, frowning harder. “The magic is happening. Meet me back here in one hour, Jess. We’ll strategize.”

Jess salutes him.

Nick says, in the silence that follows, “I want nothing to do with this.”

“Well, you weren’t invited,” Jess says. “Except we’ll be doing it at your bar. And we’ll need free drinks. And probably you’ll need to be a wingman because Winston is _bad_ at it.”

“Nothing,” Nick repeats, “to do with this.”

*

Nick gives them free drinks and wingmans spectacularly and has everything to do with all of it, because his friends are terrible. Schmidt gets laid, a lot, vocally and repeatedly, for an entire week.

It doesn’t help.

Schmidt’s sitting alone on the couch with the TV off, staring somewhere in the vicinity of the hallway, when Nick gets an idea. Maybe it’s more of a feeling, a questionable stirring somewhere inside him that makes him sit down close to Schmidt and slip an arm around his shoulders. He goes rigid underneath Nick for a long horrible moment before he melts into him all at once, sinking further down the couch and sighing softly.

Okay. Alright, this is. . .what this is.

They don’t talk, even when Schmidt turns his face to hide it against Nick’s chest, tucked under his chin in a way that Nick’s pretty sure officially takes this thing from hugging to cuddling. It’s a fine line, probably, but they’re also _nowhere_ near it. The line’s in a different state. The line is in Montana somewhere, there are cows involved, maybe—Nick doesn’t actually know anything about Montana but probably there are cows—and they’re still just here, Nick’s arm slipping down around Schmidt’s waist and Schmidt curling into him more, breathing deep and steady.

Maybe they can do this, too, like a hug but—longer. Maybe it will be okay if they just don’t talk about it.

“Thank you,” Schmidt says, a little choked, so Nick can feel the word near his collarbone.

Nick makes a vague affirmative noise in reply, because they’re not going to talk about it.

“I know you don’t. . .do things like this,” Schmidt says.

Nick sighs and doesn’t say anything, because they’re _not_ going to _talk about it_. Schmidt finally gets the hint, absently nosing against Nick’s neck before he settles in and holds on.

*

Nick’s not—surprised, really, when he eventually finds Jess hugging Schmidt in the kitchen. He’s startled, maybe, because Schmidt’s pressed up against the counter and Jess is splayed all over him and it looks—good’s probably not the right word.

(Nick doesn’t want it to be the right word.)

They look _normal_ like that, like it’s something they do all the time instead of just being another weird part of whatever the hell is happening in this apartment. His not-cuddling-but-actually-probably-definitely-cuddling sessions with Schmidt have gotten pretty regular and still not been verbally acknowledged by either of them. They just do the thing and then Schmidt coughs and pulls away and gives Nick’s shoulder a friendly platonic punch before retreating to his room.

It takes them a few moments to notice that Nick is watching them, and Schmidt pulls away first, a guilty look crossing his face. He puts hands on Jess’ shoulders and shifts her to the side to get away from her.

“I call first shower,” he says. “I want to get in there before it smells like Old Spice.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Nick says, turning to watch him go before whirling back around to look at Jess. “What’s your game, Day?”

“Just having a nice talk with Schmidt,” she says, innocently.

“About what?”

“You know, normal stuff,” she says. “Emotions.”

Nick frowns at her, and Jess rolls her eyes.                                 

“I’m Nick Miller,” Jess says, in her gruff man voice, doing some confusing arm motions. “I don’t feel feelings, I bury them deep inside until they turn into bitterness diamonds.”

“Okay, that’s harsh,” Nick says.

“Is it?” Jess asks. “Is it really?”

“I feel feelings,” Nick says. “I’m not _dead inside_. I just don’t see why we all need to go expressing ourselves all over the place!”

“Because it’s the only thing that separates us from the monkeys, Nick!”

“Well, did it work?” Nick asks. “Did you fix him with your feelings talk?”

“No, and I’m pretty sure it’s not going to work,” Jess says, “because Winston was right. We need to get Schmidt laid.”

“We already tried that,” Nick says.

“ _We_ ,” Jess says, significantly, “need to get Schmidt laid.”

“. . .are you saying you want to fix Schmidt by having sex with him?” Nick asks faintly. He feels kind of dizzy.

Jess looks conflicted.

“Well, Schmidt’s. . . _Schmidt_ ,” she says, eventually. “It would probably work.”

“He just tried screwing his way out of a broken heart and it made it worse,” Nick says.

“Emotionless, anonymous sex with a variety of hottie hot hotties made it worse,” Jess says, then adds, voice admittedly weak, shrugging over-exaggeratedly before gesturing between them, “But loving sex with people who care about him? And are, like, sex champions? Maybe?”

“Wait, _people_?” Nick asks. “Not just you?”

Jess is silent for a long significant moment, staring at him with wide eyes. Nick’s mouth falls open, and he makes a silent, outraged gesture with his entire body.

“ _You’re the one that started snuggling him,”_ she accuses, pointing at him. Nick scoffs.

“It’s not snuggling!” he says. “It’s manful embraces!”

“It’s an embrace full of _man_ , Nick,” she says. “Just let your weird tension come to its natural conclusion and take your damn pants off!”

“This isn’t happening,” Nick says. “I’m having a nightmare.”

“You need to introduce yourself to Little Schmidt,” she says, voice breaking. “You need to give him a good, long hello.”

Nick turns around to crawl over the side of the couch and bury his face in the cushion, his hands over his ears. When all else fails, he has the fetal position to turn to. He sings a Springsteen song as loudly as he can to block out Jess’ voice until he's sure that she's gone then falls silent, turning over to stare at the ceiling. 

This isn't happening.

*

Jess and him pointedly ignore each other for a few days, until Winston and Schmidt start making concerned faces and then Jess grabs Schmidt and pulls him into her room. Probably to fuck him until he's okay again, Nick thinks, darkly, staring at the door and thinking about going in before going to hide in his room instead. He's about ten minutes into resentfully gazing out the window when Schmidt throws his door open without knocking.

“ _God_ , warn a guy,” he says, flinching.

“Jess says we need to talk,” Schmidt says, “about _feelings,_ which is vague and she refused to elaborate. Do you have feelings, Nick? I thought you got rid of those at some point.”

“I tried,” Nick says. “God, did I try.”

“What’s going on?” Schmidt asks.

“Nothing,” Nick says.

“Are you and Jess doing it in secret again?” Schmidt asks. "Because you could just trying dating again like normal people. Winston and I will hate you for awhile, but we'll get over it."

“No, Schmidt,” Nick says.

“Are you dying? Is it cancer?”

“Schmidt.”

“Oh, god, it’s cancer, isn’t it?” Schmidt asks. “You’re going to look so bad without hair, Nick, I can’t believe this.”

“ _Schmidt_ ,” Nick says.

Schmidt stops to look at him, eyes wide.

“Shut _up_ ,” Nick continues, then takes three steps forward and kisses him on the mouth.

He almost expects Schmidt to reel back, but that’s really Nick’s move, here. Instead, Schmidt takes a sharp surprised breath against Nick’s mouth before he leans into it, a hand coming up to slide into Nick’s hair when he kisses Nick back.

This isn’t brotherly. They’re not—maybe they’re not really brotherly at all. Brothers definitely don’t do things like this.

Nick makes a scary breathy noise when Schmidt tugs a little at his hair, barely recognizing it as himself. He pulls away enough that they make eye contact, which was a terrible idea, pull out now, _abort mission_.

“I thought your lips would be more chapped,” Schmidt says, quietly. “You always look. . .inexplicably windblown.”

“You been thinking about my lips, man?” Nick asks. Okay, that sounds like dirty talk. Nick’s never actually seen gay porn, but he’s pretty sure this is how it starts.

Schmidt says, “. . .no?” after a conspicuously long pause.

“Oh,” Nick says.

Schmidt gives him a look, all eyebrows and scrunched up forehead, before he says, “ _You_ just _kissed_ me, Nick. You don’t get to act like this is weird.”

“Fair enough,” Nick says, then kisses him again, because it was. . .pretty okay, if he’s being honest. Nick’s kind of great at first kisses, and this is no exception. He walks Schmidt up against the door, and Schmidt shifts a leg up between his knees in response, so Nick gasps as it brushes up against his half-hard dick.

“Does this have anything to do with why Jess has been making weird faces at me and talking like Judy Garland?” Schmidt asks, lips near Nick’s cheek, while Nick manfully refrains from rubbing off against his leg.

“Uh,” Nick says. “Those might be her seduction faces.”

“Seriously?” Schmidt asks. “Those worked on you?”

“After she took off her shirt,” Nick replies.

“She looked like a wayfaring sea captain after a stroke,” Schmidt says.

“But without his shirt on,” Nick says, waggling his eyebrows. His face falls when Schmidt just stares back at him. “We’re trying to—oh god, there’s no way to put this to make it sound normal or okay.”

“You’re trying to make me feel better,” Schmidt says, like he’s weirdly touched.

“Yeah, kind of.”

“With _sex_?” Schmidt asks, smiling when Nick doesn’t protest. “With _weird_ sex. You _know_ me.”

“Yeah,” Nick says, quietly, swallowing hard. “We know you, Schmidt.”

Schmidt’s face goes kind of soft, and then he pushes back up to kiss Nick again, knee sliding up so Nick groans and pushes back.

“We’ve got to talk to Jess,” he says, turning his face away to mumble the words out against Schmidt’s neck. “She’s part of this.”

“Right,” Schmidt says. Neither of them move. “Maybe we could just make out for awhile longer.”

“Yeah, alright,” Nick says.

*

Later, after some frantic awkward negotiation and Jess using the word _intercourse_ four times, they’re standing in concentrated silence in a circle in Jess’ room when Nick finally breaks and says, “Okay, somebody’s gotta make a decision here.”

“We could both fuck you at the same,” Schmidt says, to Jess, raising his eyebrows. “A little DP action.”

“That sounds fake,” Jess says. “People don’t do that.”

“People do that,” Nick says. “There’s. . .you know, the internet.”

“You can’t believe everything you see on the internet, I know this, I taught an internet safety class for sixth graders,” Jess says, shaking her head. “Hold on, I’m going to get my white board out. I think we need to draw some diagrams.”

“There’s nothing sensual about diagrams, Jess,” Schmidt says, a little sharply, and Nick thinks maybe this is already going south and none of them have even taken their _socks_ off yet. This is going to be exhausting if they don’t just cut to the chase, and Nick’s the only one in this room who’s remotely capable of that.

He grabs Jess’ arm and pulls her into a kiss. She melts into it instantly, familiarly, arms sliding up around his neck to hold on. It only hurts a little bit to do this again, after everything.

“Let’s just get to it and see what happens so I don’t kill you both,” Nick says, and Jess nods.

“Good point,” she says, breathlessly, and pulls her shirt off.

Schmidt looks between them for a moment before he steps forward, hesitantly, looking shy—which is weird and wrong and Nick pulls him in to kiss the look off his stupid face. Jess lets out a low whistle.

“Well, hot damn,” she says.

“Hot damn,” Schmidt agrees, touching his mouth.

“Let’s continue taking our clothes off before we realize that we’re making a horrible mistake,” Nick suggests, unzipping his pants and sliding them off. Jess shimmies out of her skirt and almost falls trying to get her tights off, wordlessly dropping onto the bed and lifting her legs so Nick can grab her tights at the knees and tug them off.

Schmidt’s naked faster than any of them, like suspiciously fast—Nick briefly wonders if he’s been naked all along and Nick just didn’t notice, somehow. He sprawls out on Jess’ bed, watching as Nick steps out of his boxers and Jess’ bra—the one with the donut print—lands next to them.

“Do you think we should let Schmidt decide what we do?” Jess asks, turning to look up at Nick.

“As long as it’s not something that involves batteries or—or _sound effects_ or anything acrobatic,” Nick says, then adds, after a thought, “Also, anything with a nickname that’s not in English.”

“Ménage à trois,” Schmidt says.

“Stop saying nonsense at me,” Nick says. “What do you want?”

Schmidt stares at him with wide eyes for a moment before his eyes, briefly, flit down to look at Nick’s dick. Nick stares back at him.

“I. . .” Schmidt says. “I wouldn’t mind if you, uh—”

They all fall silent, and then Schmidt does a weird obscene hand gesture and is maybe blushing.

“Are you talking about—” Jess starts, glancing between them before saying, softly, “Oh, wow.”

Nick’s like forty-eight percent sure that Schmidt wants Nick to fuck him.

“Have you ever done that?” Nick asks.

“With women,” Schmidt says, shrugging. “Strap-ons. Same basic deal.”

“Not sure that’s true.”

“Well, you don’t _have_ to do it,” Schmidt says, huffing. “I mean, I could make love to Jess while you sit in a dark corner and watch. Creepy voyeur seems more like your style anyway.”

“Creepy voyeur is not my style,” Nick says.

“No participant ribbons for Nick Miller, no, sir,” Schmidt says, unnecessarily lofty for someone laying there with his dick out. “No ribbons of any sort.”

“I’ll fuck you,” Nick says. “I’ll fuck you right now.”

Wow, that was not what he was expecting to come out of his mouth. Jess looks surprised and kind of delighted, and Schmidt looks startled. Which is, just, unnecessary— _he started this_.

“If you want me to,” Nick adds, raising his eyebrows.

“Yeah,” Schmidt says, immediately, then adds, coughing, “I mean, yeah, whatever. Sure.”

“Ooh, what can I do?” Jess asks.

“You just want a participant ribbon,” Schmidt says.

“I mean, I’m willing to sit in a dark corner and watch,” Jess says, nudging Nick in the side with her elbow, “but, also, I’m ready for business here. Put me in the game, coach.” 

“Schmidt should go down on you,” Nick says. “He’s good at that.”

They both raise their eyebrows at him.

“ _A-allegedly_ ,” Nick adds. “You—your girlfriends are _loud_ , I _hear things_.”

“Yeah, okay. You up for it?” Jess asks, walking towards the bed, and Schmidt takes a second to look her over before he nods.

“If you think you can handle the power of Schmidt,” Schmidt says, and Jess and Nick groan in unison.

“Never mind, my lady parts just shut down,” she says, and Schmidt scoffs and grabs her wrist, tugging gently so she falls next to him and into a kiss. Nick feels weird watching but not in a bad way, just— _new_. Schmidt’s hands carefully smooth over Jess’ back then slide down to grip her waist and pull her on top of him.

When they pull apart, Jess says, “Okay, yeah, I’m convinced. Let’s get this party started, fellas.”

She’s still straddling Schmidt when she takes the hair tie off her wrist and pulls her hair up in a messy ponytail, but then she climbs off and moves to rustle through her nightstand. Schmidt glances back at Nick for a second before turning away quickly to move so he’s on his knees.

Jess makes a soft _aha_ noise then tosses Nick a small bottle of lube and a condom.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” Jess asks. “I imagine there are rules. We probably should have gone to the library first—or at least googled.”

“I’m not going to ask Siri how to—look, okay, I’ve got this. I’ve done it before,” Nick says, climbing onto the bed behind Schmidt gingerly, feeling shaky.

“With _whom_?” Schmidt asks.

“Caroline,” Nick says.

“ _Caroline_ ,” Schmidt repeats, darkly. “I can’t believe I didn’t know about this.”

“Okay, great, that just means we can skip the research portion of the night and get straight to the main event,” Jess interrupts, clearly trying to sound like she’s got it completely together. Maybe she does. Maybe it’s just Nick who’s kind of _too_ turned on and absolutely about to jump out of his skin. He kind of thought, even after all the kissing, that maybe they'd ignore the fact that both of them have bodies that could easily interact and just focus on Jess so it wouldn't be too much. Too gay. Nick's pretty sure the fact that Schmidt almost made him come in his pants earlier means he's no longer allowed to  _no homo_ out of anything, even though he doesn't even want to. _  
_

Schmidt moves to his knees and Jess moves to sit against the pillows, sinking down into them on her elbows.

“Just, uh, dive on in there, buddy,” she says, nodding at Schmidt and spreading her legs a little wider.

“Sure thing, pal,” Schmidt says, dryly, before sprawling out lower to get his mouth on her. Nick moves enough that he can see Jess’ head dropping backwards against the pillow, vaguely hear the sound of Schmidt’s tongue on her skin.

“Oh _my_ god,” she says. “Nick, _Nick_ , this is why girls like him so much.”

“Among other reasons,” Schmidt looks up to say, pointedly, and Jess slowly pushes his head back down with her hand.

“Don’t forget why you’re down there,” she says, and Schmidt makes a noise that Nick places somewhere between a moan and a _whine_. Jess lifts up her to head to make eye contact with Nick, mouth open until Schmidt apparently does something impressive down there and she collapses again, pushing her hips up a little.

“God,” Nick says.

“I think if Schmidt was capable of using his mouth for anything other than exactly what it’s doing right now, holy crap, do _not_ stop,” Jess says, in a rush of breath, “He’d tell you to pick up the pace.”

“Right,” Nick says, carefully smoothing a hand over the small of Schmidt’s back. Schmidt starts a little, jerking forward before pushing back against Nick’s hand when it slides down. He makes that noise again when Nick presses a finger against his hole, muffled against Jess.

Jess sits up on her elbows to watch Nick fumble with the lube.

“You’ve got this, Miller,” she says, quietly.

“Yeah, yeah,” he murmurs, half smiling.

Schmidt goes still when Nick presses a finger inside of him, and Jess reaches back down to run her fingers through his hair, whispering something that Nick can’t hear but that makes Schmidt moan and relax.  

“You good, man?” Nick asks.

“I’m good,” Schmidt says, a laugh startled out of him, “I’m really good.”

Nick goes slowly, fucking Schmidt with his fingers until Schmidt’s gasping and turning his face away from Jess, pressing it into her thigh. He mutters something, and Jess says, “I think you should say that a little louder.”

“. . .I’m only going to say this once, so, you know, _enjoy_ it,” Schmidt says, raising himself up enough to look back at Nick, “ _Please_.”

“Technically you said it twice,” Jess says.

“Please what?” Nick asks.

“Please—get _on_ with it before I die of sexual frustration,” Schmidt says.

“Three times,” Jess says, then squeaks when Schmidt drops back down to lick over her clit. “Yep, yes, get on with it, Nick.”

“This is a lot,” Nick says, because it is. He watches them for a couple of seconds before he puts the condom on, moving to squeeze Schmidt’s hip. “Just so you both know, this is—a _lot_.”

He pushes into Schmidt slowly, right on the edge of overwhelmed when his hips are pressed up against him, because this is happening. Jess is panting and Schmidt is raising his hips and this is _happening_.

“Oh my god,” Jess says.

“Oh my _god_ ,” Nick agrees.

Schmidt makes a frustrated noise.

“Go ahead, Nick,” Jess says, and Nick nods, pulling out and thrusting back in. Schmidt’s hands clench at Jess’ waist where they were resting as Nick starts up a careful rhythm, digging his fingers into Schmidt’s hips because his hands are sweating. He feels overwhelmed but  _good,_ like everything's probably going to fall apart again soon but right now it's working—Schmidt warm and tight around him, making soft noises into Jess' cunt every time Nick fucks into him.

Jess says, pitched and heated, “Oh my _god_ , Schmidt, good job,” before she comes with a long, low moan, her hips lifting up and her fingers tightening in his hair to keep him where he is. She pulls him away when she’s overwhelmed, shifting down so he’s half sprawled out on top of her, his face pressed against her ribs.

“Go team,” Jess says, weakly.

“Rah rah,” Schmidt says, then, when Nick picks up speed, “God, _shit_. I’m—I’m going to need someone to touch me, okay, _immediately_.”

“I can’t move,” Jess says, lazily. “It’s up to Nick.”

“I feel like I kind of have a lot on my plate right now,” Nick says, and he's barely able to catch his breath but he slides a hand down, only hesitating a moment before circling it around Schmidt’s dick—because, really, what could make this weirder. Not a handjob, that's for sure. Schmidt groans, sinking down lower.

“Nick,” he gasps out, voice breaking. “ _Nick_.”

“I got you, Schmidt,” Nick says, thumb sliding over the head of his dick before Schmidt shouts and comes on his stomach and over Nick’s hand. Nick wipes it off on his skin, murmuring, “Ugh.”

“Ugh? You’re about to come _inside_ me,” Schmidt says, but he’s too blissed out to sound annoyed.

“Yeah,” Nick says, strangled, “Point,” and then he does, collapsing on top of Schmidt when he's finished. Jess makes a sad noise when they fall on top of her, and Nick pulls out to roll off of them and pull the condom off, tossing it in the direction of the trashcan. They lay there silently for a good minute, just breathing.

“Is this going to be weird in the morning?” Schmidt asks, crawling up to hide his face somewhere in the vicinity of Jess’ neck, carefully settling his weight on her. They shift around to sneak glances at each other.

“Yes,” Nick says. “Yeah, it’s going to be weird.”

“Okay,” Schmidt says, quietly.

“When have we ever been normal, though?” Jess murmurs, snaking her arms around Schmidt's waist. “We’ll deal with it.”

Nick shifts enough that he can scrub a hand over Schmidt’s hair. Schmidt closes his eyes.

“We’ll deal with it,” Nick echoes.

**Author's Note:**

> true fact: you can't cure depression by having a threesome with your best friends and roommates but you can try.


End file.
